"You disappoint me, Bill." Even through the phone, Bill could hear the acidity in Sophie-Anne's voice. The complete and utter disdain.
"It doesn't make sense, Your Majesty," Bill protested, "I chained him down. I stayed with him until dawn. It is impossible for him to have lived."
"And with all of your advantages, you have still failed. You knew he would be there. You knew he would be unarmed," she said, sounding bored now. "This is the court I keep? Full of incompetency. A human with a silver bullet would have fared better. Well, it seems that if we cannot go through the Sheriff of Area Five, we will have to go around him."
x
The murders started slowly at first and many thought they were accidental. A man stumbled upon a fellow construction worker on an early morning job site, his neck snapped in half after what appeared to be a large fall. Only, there was no significant height outcropping nearby for him to have fallen from. Then there were the two prostitutes, which were both naturally written off as a hazard of the job by the lackadaisical-at-best Bon Temps police force. They were found on the side of the road with nothing and no one nearby, with no discernable reason for them to be there in the first place. Then, Maudette Evans, Jason's ex-girlfriend, was found strangled to death in her apartment. As the weeks fell away, the numbers grew to a rate at which even the state police couldn't ignore.
Bon Temps became a veritable crime scene, but nothing changed. And no two murders were the same. Different victims, different causes, different locations. Not a single one died of a vampire bite, though the local church was petitioning otherwise. And though they had no evidence besides their inherent prejudices against the vampire community, Sookie, though she didn't want to, couldn't help but agree with them. She couldn't help but think that these murders were occurring in concentric circles in which she was the common center. And, sooner or later, they would get to her.
Physically, Sookie was drained. The same nightmare every night. Jason died every time. No matter what variable she tried to adjust, the result was always seeing his lifeless body slumped over on the porch, entirely drained of blood. She woke up every morning, sweating, her heart racing. She'd taken to leaving her window partly open at night to encourage the wind to cool her restless sleeps, but, still, nothing changed.
Her shifts at Merlotte's had also taken on a new tenor. She felt as though she had to relearn how to do her job, how to live in her community, how to have conversations and serve customers without wanting to rip her own brain out of her head. Everyone's thoughts were so excruciatingly loud, she felt as though she had a jackhammer pounding into her forehead at any given moment. Especially when they were drunk, both their thoughts and their hands sloppier than ever. She found herself waiting-hoping-for the void, though she'd been very clear with Eric to leave her be. She hated him for respecting her wishes and loved him for respecting her wishes. It was also clear that Bill wasn't returning, not after Eric's arrogant display. Sam didn't let her hear the end of that, either, of course. She even had to hold the door as he repaired it, grumbling about vampires under his breath all the while.
She waited for his attitude to change, but, if anything, it got worse. Especially when Merlotte's delivery driver, Joe, was found dead at dawn in his pickup outside the bar after the late shift. No one had even heard him arrive, nonetheless die during the busiest time of the night. It was incomprehensible. He had been drained of blood but, once more, there were no bite marks. His neck, however, was snapped in two.
"This shit ain't right," Sam sighed, sitting across from Sookie and Jason behind the bar. It was just after 1:30, closing time for a small town like Bon Temps. They clinked their beer bottles together dispassionately, then took a sip. "I've never seen Bon Temps like this."
"You're tellin' me," Jason comisserated. "Look, Maudette was a wild one, but she was a good girl. She shouldn't've died like that."
"No one should die like that," Sookie sighed, rubbing her temples after another endlessly loud shift.
"It's kind of weird though, Sook..." Sam started cautiously, then stopped.
"What's weird?" she prompted, making eye contact in a challenge.
"Just that, you know, you saved that vamp in the woods and now all of a sudden…" he trailed off.
"This isn't Eric," she said flatly. That was the one thing she knew for certain in all this. It wasn't Eric's doing. She had no reason to know this, no character to build off, no proof of his morals. She just knew in her soul, and her soul was enough.
"You saved a vamp in the woods?" Jason asked loudly.
"You didn't tell your brother?" Sam scoffed.
Their thoughts chorused together in a mix of annoyance, anger, and incredulity.
"Can y'all just quiet down?" she asked desperately, "I just need some quiet."
Jason dropped his anger, looking at Sookie with concern and sympathy.
"You're still not sleepin', are you?" he asked, rubbing her shoulder with affection.
"No," she confessed. She knew she looked awful. Deep purple bags beneath her eyes, sallow, colorless cheeks, hair limp and dry. She was dropping weight, too, her Merlotte's uniform loose around her waist and hips. She knew what it was she needed. She needed silence. She needed peace. And there was someone she could get it from, she just didn't know if she could bring herself to do it.
They walked out to their cars together, Jason leaning over the driver's side door as Sookie slid into her Honda.
"Look, Sook," he said. "I think you should stay with me at my place, it's safer that way."
"I'm not leavin' Gran," she said, crossing her arms stubbornly.
"Fine, then I'll go there. Just give me a couple days to gather my stuff," he said.
"You don't have to."
"I don't want to hear it, I'm comin'."
"Thanks, Jay," she said. He shut her door, tapping on the window a couple times before sauntering back to his truck.
She still couldn't sleep. Instead, she stared up at the ceiling of her bedroom until the sky began to brighten outside her window, the breeze flowing through it warming as the hours ticked by. She didn't work today, which was more of a curse than a blessing. While she enjoyed the relative quiet of her remote home, it left her alone with her own thoughts, which were oftentimes more destructive than others'. She worried for her town, for the increasing number of dead. She worried for Sam, Jason, Gran. Would they be next? She'd rather the mysterious murderer simply took her, though she had no guarantee the murders would even stop if that happened. She sat with Gran on the couch with the TV on low, the newscaster reading through the deaths of the last month, announcing that the police threatened to place Bon Temps in a state of emergency. At some point in the late afternoon glow she fell asleep, curled up on the floral print couch.
She woke again with a start at Jason's death, staring around her at the now-empty living room. The sun was just dropping down over the horizon. She'd slept for an hour, if she could call it sleep at all. She was fraying at the edges; she couldn't go on like this. She threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, unthinking, and pulled out of her driveway so fast her tires screeched.
x
Fangtasia was just as busy as it was the last time she was here all those weeks ago. The line outside still hummed with anticipation, fear, lust. The trifecta of humanity, all blended up into one. She was even more underdressed than before, to the point where she worried that the impeccably dressed bouncer wouldn't let her in. But the opposite happened. Before she could even get to the line, the bouncer abandoned the front door and zipped over to her.
"Oh, thank Satan," she said, sounding more annoyed than relieved.
"Pardon?"
"Eric has been an absolute fucking nightmare. I'm not even sure he's out tonight. Come," she said, turning on her black pump with ease, already walking to the front of the club. She opened the heavy, red door for Sookie, practically pushing her inside. "If he's not up there, come back and get me and I'll find him. These fangbangers can wait. By the way, I'm Pam. And you're Sookie. You smell great, but I won't bite you. Nice to officially meet, blah blah blah."
Then she shut the door in Sookie's face.
"Okay…" Sookie mumbled under her breath, weaving her way into the club. Once again, she was assaulted by the sheer volume of the place. She had to fight her natural instinct to cover her ears with her palms, despite knowing full well that it wouldn't quiet things down anyway. She dodged vampires and humans alike, pushing her way through the layers of black leather until she saw him, raised up on the dais just like the last time. His eyes were closed. If she didn't know any better, she would've thought him asleep. He was perfectly still, leather jacket tight on his shoulders as he hunched over, elbows resting on his knees. His hair hung a bit longer over his forehead, not slicked back like last time. She recognized the shadows under his eyes. They matched hers.
She stood watching him from a few feet away, still in the throbbing crowd. He moved barely, almost imperceptibly, his chest inflating with a slow, heavy inhale, eyes still closed. His mouth quirked into the slightest of smiles, just for a moment, before it dropped into a scowl and he shook his head abruptly. She moved closer then, wondering how long it would take for him to open his eyes. If he ever would. When she was about to reach him, she was intercepted.
The vampire had shortly cropped black hair and piercings in his eyebrow, nose, lips. He grinned, flashed his fangs.
"You smell awfully delicious," the vampire crooned. Before she could respond, he was on the floor, Eric towering over him with his own fangs bared. But unlike at Merlotte's, Eric didn't pursue the threat. He retracted his fangs and turned to Sookie, holding out his hand to her. She took it, immediately embraced by the silence, and followed him out of the main club and into a back corridor. He moved quickly, with purpose, and she struggled to keep up. He turned a corner and pushed her into what must've been his back office, shutting the door behind him. He pulled his hand away and she was hit again with the thoughts of the bar like a punch to the gut. She winced, but tried to smooth out her expression before he would notice. She failed.
"You aren't sleeping," he said sternly.
"Have you heard about the murders?" she asked.
"Of course," he responded, walking back to his chair behind his desk, sitting down. "Come here," he said, followed after a beat by a soft, "Please."
She walked slowly over to him, directed by a force seemingly greater than her own. She wavered with herself, the usual gravitational question, succumb or leave? Orbit or drift? When she got close enough, he took her choice away, pulling her down and onto his lap. Immediate silence. Her eyes fluttered, grateful for it. Grateful for all of it. She rested her head on his shoulder, exhaustion settling over her body, the comfortable pressure of deep water, the inevitability of drowning. He wrapped one arm beneath her legs, pulling them up over his lap, the other threaded through her hair as he was wont to do, pressing her face down into his jacket. She felt his warm breath exhaling slowly above her head and she wondered if his eyes were closed, too.
"What happens," he asked, breaking the silence, "when you touch me?"
"It goes quiet," she confessed, delirious.
"What goes quiet?"
"Everything," she breathed, tumbling forward into sleep.
She was stiff when she awoke, her throat dry and her bones popping. She was contorted in a strange position, halfway sat up, knees near her chest, disoriented. She opened her eyes slowly, realizing that for the first time in a very long time she'd managed to sleep without having a nightmare.
"Good morning," Eric's voice came from above her head, his hand combing out her hair in almost animalistic proclivity. She blinked up at him, only halfway understanding how she got to where she was. She remembered being at her home, driving a bit, walking through Fangtasia. It was spotty, but lack of sleep would do that to a person. Then she noticed the blood.
"You're bleeding," she pointed out, nearly reaching up to touch the redness leaking from his ears.
"I'm not meant to be awake at this time," he said calmly.
"What time is it?" she asked, frantically scrambling off his lap. He let her go, his arms dropping to the chair's armrests, checking his watch with bored slowness.
"Almost 10am," he answered.
"Crap, crap, crap," she said combing her fingers through her hair and straightening her shirt. "I'm on lunch shift and it takes an hour to get back to Bon Temps." He watched her chaotic movements with a passive, near stony expression, as if waiting for a puppy to tire itself out. She looked around for her purse, finding it inexplicably dropped on the ground beneath her feet. She draped it over her shoulder and moved to leave before realizing she had no idea how to get out of this part of Fangtasia.
"Take the first right, then it's through the double doors," Eric said, monotone.
"Thanks," she said, moving through the office door.
"Oh, and Sookie?"
She stopped, leaning back into the office expectantly.
"I'm coming over tonight," he said with no room for discussion. She tamped down her immediate, gut response to deny his pompous proclamation, given that he'd just provided her the one thing she'd desperately needed over the past few weeks: uninterrupted sleep.
"Okay… Sheriff," she said, closing the door on his small smile.
x
She found the body on her drive home from Merlotte's just after sunset. Its legs were halfway in the road, the other half of the body out. It was sliding into the embankment like a melted popsicle. It was also on the same back stretch she'd found Eric, which immediately put warning bells in her head. This body was placed; it had to be. No one frequented this road besides her and sometimes Sam. It was remote, unpaved. And unless Sam was the murderer, which would be physically impossible, then someone was toying with her. She pulled her car over and stepped out, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. The cicadas were loud, but when she got close to the body the flies were louder. It was rotting. This one had been dead for awhile, but it wasn't on the road when she drove to work.
She looked around her, suddenly hyper-aware that there was a strong possibility she was being watched. The night was tinted a deep blue, not yet pitch. The moon winked at her through the trees, only just beginning its slow ascent. There was a gentle, cooling wind that made the leaves of the trees breathe gentle inhales, exhales. She didn't recognize the man on the road, his carcass so dilapidated it looked more like a movie prop than the real thing. She saw no physical injuries, but his eyes were open. Empty. Blank. Lifeless. She found herself sitting down, feeling a perverse need to give the corpse company.
"Who did this to you?" she asked the corpse, the silence. "Was it a vampire?"
An owl responded with a sullen, distant hoot. Its yellow eyes shone down at her from a high branch in a tree opposite: quizzical, curious. She stared up at it in wordless conversation, an exchange of sympathies. It fluttered its wings, shuffling on the branch, then flew away as if startled. She looked to her left to find Eric standing beside her, his boots crunching in the gravel as he walked up to the corpse. She knew she should ask him where he appeared from, but she was too busy watching his lean form approach the dead body like a homing missile. He leaned down, inhaling slowly, feral.
"They kept the bodies from me," he spoke conversationally to Sookie while still examining the corpse. "Out after dawn. Human help, I assume. This is sloppy." He leaned forward. "Or… cocky. Hubris." His lips curled in a snarl. He inhaled one more time, entirely unfazed by the rotting corpse, his nostrils flaring in recognition. "I know who did this. Don't call the police. Leave the body, I will take care of it."
He looked at her for a long moment then shot up into the sky, disappearing, graceful yet volatile, no need for the wings of an owl.
Sookie watched the corpse dissolve into the darkness from her rearview mirror, the red glow of her tail lights casting an eerie final scene. Gran was already well on her way to sleep by the time she got home. Half of Jason's stuff was dumped haphazardly on the floor of the entrance and she tripped over it as she made her way to the kitchen.
"He's comin' by later with the rest of it," Gran explained to Sookie, sipping on some warm milk in a mug. "Wants to move home for awhile, what with all the craziness that's been happenin' here in Bon Temps. What a good boy."
"Night, Gran." Sookie gave her a quick hug.
"You look better today, sweet girl. I'm glad you're sleepin' again," she said, trudging her way up the stairs.
"Me too."
She took a shower while she waited for Eric to get there, letting her skin turn a bright pink under the scalding hot water. She didn't know what she wanted upon his arrival, either physically or mentally. She felt herself lost at sea with no discernable harbor or even a direction to point her bow. She paddled in circles, spinning, slapped on each side by white-capped waves, surrendering herself to the tumult. If he took care of the murderer, her problems must end. It was the assumption she had to make. He was out there, somewhere, but more than anything she wanted him at home with her. The sudden, powerful certainty nearly knocked her off her feet in the tub. She wanted the safety she felt when she was near him. She wanted his peace. She wanted his calm, yet playful demeanor. She wanted his touch. She wanted him.
She felt her heart rate increase involuntarily, turning off the water and wrapping herself in a robe, toweling her hair but leaving it damp. When she walked downstairs he was already waiting for her outside, lounging against the wooden porch beam, waiting to be invited in. She threw the door open, bathing him in the yellow light of the kitchen. He gazed at her, examination without expectation, and stepped forward when it seemed he found what he needed in her expression.
"Eric Northman," she breathed, "Will you please come in?"
He stepped through the threshold and took her in his arms, enveloping her completely, his fingers playing with the wet tips of her hair as she acclimated herself to his presence. She felt him press his cheek to the top of her head, learning the positions he liked, his repeated gestures. He liked to cradle, to encompass, to surround. He liked an all-over physical touch of every body part. He liked gentle pressure; he liked to feel the magnetic push. He hated the pull. She heard him inhale slowly, his fingers moving to run down her spine.
"Wheat. Honey. Sunshine," he mumbled. She pulled back slightly to gaze up at his face, noticing again the deep cut shadows beneath his eyes. He looked pale, too. Even for a vampire. Sallow cheeks, fine lines at the corners of his lips.
"You look different," she said, remembering their first real encounter in the storage room at Merlotte's. Even beneath the chains, he was radiant. Vibrant. Nearly human.
"I have not fed for a short while," he explained, tucking her hair behind both ears. "But I am very old, as you said, so it is doable."
"How long?" she asked, concerned and ignoring his playful jab.
"Hm," he pretended to think, smiling slightly for her benefit. "Besides a bit of the synthetic excuse for blood at the bar with you, I believe it was in a certain basement that smelled an awful lot like wet dog."
She tried to understand. The last time he'd fed was from her?
"Eric, that was weeks ago," she said, searching his eyes for an explanation.
"I wanted no one else," he responded emphatically without even a hint of humor. He gazed at her, imploring her to understand. Her lips parted, taken aback by the gravity of his words. She wanted to give him what he wanted. Suddenly, that was the only thing that mattered. She tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck to him, still moist and pink from the shower, a throbbing artery pulsing against the skin. His eyes dragged to the spot, gaze full with longing. He leaned over slowly and she braced, expecting the bite. Instead, his lips brushed along her skin and up to her jaw, cheek, hovering over her lips.
"Not yet," he whispered.
She felt a rush of wind as he lifted her, shooting up the stairs and into her room, depositing her on the sheets in a flurry of fabric. She laughed, her hair falling into disarray as he crawled over her, his jacket and shoes dropping to the floor. He covered her mouth with his hand playfully, scolding her to quiet down. They weren't the only two in the house, after all. He pulled back, hands hovering over the tie to her robe, looking up to her face for permission. She nodded, watching beneath heavy lids as he unwrapped her like a gift, using his large palms to slide the fabric off, a low groan falling from his lips to find her nude before him, revealing the rare pearl. She pulled at his black shirt in response and he removed it with barely controlled speed. It was as though he had miles of torso, but he was still too far away. She grabbed the necklace dangling from his neck, and he allowed himself to be pulled, allowed himself to be desired, and finally, finally their lips properly met.
At first, he was almost tentative, until her lips responded fire. She tore into him, an oasis in the desert, a luxury to be bathed in. Her tongue reached out to meet his, her fingernails trailing red paths down his back that healed moments later, his hands cradling her head on either side, kissing, pulling back, gazing, repeating. His lips travelled south, beneath her neck to her breasts, her stomach, her navel, until she was bucking wildly against him and he was holding her down in just the right way, the exacting nature of expertise, the precision of practice. Her nerve endings were on fire, fingers clenched into his hair as he worked, bringing her so, so close, until she was begging for him.
"Eric," she cried softly, tears of pleasure welling up in her eyes. He looked up at his name and she noticed his fangs had dropped. She hadn't even heard the click. She tugged on his hair; she needed him inside her, blind with want. He unzipped his pants, moving up until he hovered before her and she felt the tip of him, testing. His forearms framed her face, holding himself above her, poised and ready until she consented once more. She nodded, grasping his shoulders with sweaty palms as he sunk into her slowly, his face dropping to hers, both of their mouths open wide in silent cry, his fangs pricking her lips as she breathed. They exhaled together and she wrapped her arms fully around his neck, begging him to move. He pulled out and slammed back in with a grunt; her back arched, a grimace on her face.
"Does it hurt?" he breathed, stilling, though his muscles twitched with restraint.
"Keep going," she said, not quite answering his question. He sped up and she clung to him like a life preserver, pressing her forehead to his while he moved. His face tensed in concentration, a pleasure so severe it closed in on pain.
"Now," Sookie ordered with a confidence that surprised them both, tilting her head to the left and exposing her neck. He held her hair back with one giant palm and bit, clutching her to him, thrusting erratically, a primal groan at the base of his throat as she came, crying out to him, desperation and pure, unfiltered desire flooding her every cell. He followed shortly after, releasing her neck with a growl, her blood dripping down his fangs, lips, chin.
She curled into him, breathing heavily, cheeks glowing, temples dripping with sweat. Like in the basement, he pricked his fingertip, rubbing circles into the bite mark. Unlike the basement, he leaned down, lapping up the excess blood with his tongue, then moving to her face and licking the salty sweat, up her jaw and ear, and down where it pooled at her collarbones. It was these moments-when Eric's most primal, vampiric tendencies came to surface-that she loved and feared him the most. He worshipped her this way, with the aching tenderness of his care, his touch saying what his words did not. They let their breathing slow into a steady, synched rhythm. He stared up at the ceiling, running his fingertips over her hair and neck absently, subconsciously.
"I ripped your pillow," he confessed, breaking the silence.
"You what?" she laughed, propping herself up on her elbows to take in the damage. Sure enough, her pillow was torn to shreds, feathers leaking out onto the mattress and floor. "Okay, yeah, you ripped my pillow."
He smiled cheekily at her, boyish and naughty; juxtaposed with her blood still dripping down his chin it was quite the picture. Her mood sobered abruptly as she was struck once more with the desire to reciprocate his form of affection. She leaned over him as he watched with curious eyes, dipping her head down to lick up the blood on his face, languid and slow. He gripped her hips a little too tightly, groaning, and she imagined small, oval shaped bruises forming on her skin.
"You'll be the death of me," he whispered, gazing up at her in wonder.
"Last I checked you were already dead," she smirked.
"Touché," he said, catching her before she moved too far away. "Sookie," he said, suddenly turning the conversation on its axis. "I know who killed that man tonight, but I wasn't able to reach him. That was bait and he counted on me pursuing him and leaving you alone. I… defied that. But he is still alive."
"Who is it?" she asked, still perched atop his chest.
He didn't want to tell her.
"Why won't you tell me?" she asked instead after a moment's silence.
"Because I don't want it to taint your trust in me," he said honestly. "And because I will take care of it." She could tell then that he'd decided. She wasn't going to get the answer out of him. "But," he continued, "Just in case, I want to offer you something."
"Offer me what?"
Instead of answering, he dropped his fangs, bringing his own hand to his mouth and biting down with a grunt. He pulled his hand away, palm facing her, two small red wounds on the skin's surface where they punctured. She looked at his hand, then back to his face, his fangs still bared.
"Drink," he ordered, emphatic. "And I will feel you. And I will protect you. And you will be mine." There was an irrepressible fire in his eyes. She could see the want there, more brightly than she'd seen all night. He might as well be on his hands and knees, he was so clearly begging for her to do this. She felt fear in her gut then. Not of him, but of the unknown. Of committing herself so fully. The magnetic dance, a tilt shift. His eyes burned into hers; he wasn't breathing, his desperation held tight. He was waiting on the mountaintop for the gust of wind.
She pressed her lips to his palm, shocked by the indescribable sweetness of his blood. Immediately, he clutched her with his other arm, dragging her into his lap, cradling her as she drank. He was moaning, his eyes rolling up in that same curious mixture of pleasure and pain that she was coming to know so well. It was an immediate addiction. He was an immediate addiction. Her hands wrapped around his palm and wrist, trying desperately to get him to become even closer still. Somehow, it still wasn't close enough. She had the conscious thought of being inside his skin, of inhabiting him fully, of living entirely off of him as he now did her. She understood, then, the necessary eroticism of the transfer of blood. Why he waited for her to feed. Why it mattered. It ended up being Eric that pulled her away; that and his rapidly-healing skin's attempts to close over the wounds.
"That's enough, min ängel," he said quietly, stroking her hair with half-lidded eyes. She kissed him then, the blood intermingling in their mouths, sticky and metallic. She touched his fangs with her tongue, gazing at him in unabashed wonder. She was euphoric. His blood was a miracle. He felt her euphoria course through his own body, a spike of adrenaline that made him want her again and again and again.
They made love once more and it was unbearable. Each touch reverberated between them, pleasure shared in exponential growth. Every taste was a spark of lightning, the exchange an immediate thunder without delay. Tears leaked from her eyes that only he felt, kissing them before they could properly fall. They showered together, washing away the blood and sweat, him pulling her to his chest as always, massaging the suds through her hair, not close enough, never close enough.
"Does it always feel like this?" she asked, warm water she could hardly notice running down her body.
He looked at her with something akin to sadness and shook his head, kissing her chastely, nuzzling her face with his own, leaving it there to tamper down his own emotions without observation. Oblivious, Sookie wrapped her arms around his back, clutching so tightly her knuckles turned white. They stood that way until water ran cold, until Sookie started to shiver. Eric wrapped her in a towel, darting back to the haven of her room, so disheveled it looked as though a tornado had run its course straight through the bed.
They were quiet, Sookie curled around Eric, cradling his head to her chest as he listened to the slow and steady beat of her heart. She would've thought him meditating had he not started to speak:
"What are you?" he asked into her stomach, listening as her heart rate picked up at the question. The sheer importance of those three simple words. No one knew the truth. No one could know. It was too dangerous, being different. Especially in Bon Temps.
"I don't know." And that much was true. She didn't know. There was never a time in her life in which she felt really and truly seen, really and truly understood. Was this her opportunity to change that? Would she ever get another?
"I can feel your uncertainty," he said, gripping her thigh with his hand, nearly wrapping around half of it with ease.
"I'm uncertain."
He tilted his head up to make eye contact with her then, the blue as vibrant as she'd ever seen. His cheeks were nearly pink, his blond hair wild. She had a sudden flashback of him laying in the sunny field of wildflowers. Alone. Burning. A tragedy she hadn't understood the magnitude of at the time, the stakes with which she was playing to save him. Life. Death. Peace. Pain. A stack of cards all shuffled up into a singular deck.
"I can read minds," she confessed. Now, there was nothing between them. Her most sacred secret, out in the open. She watched as a series of emotions flickered across his face in a millisecond: disbelief, fear, guilt, awe.
"Can you read my mind?" he asked, a slight tremor in his voice.
"No," she answered. "No, only humans. You're like… a void. All vampires are. And when I touch you, all that noise, all those thoughts all around me, they just disappear. It's the only peace I've ever felt in my whole life. It's incredible." She was gushing now, never before able to speak so freely. She had a flash of fear in her gut, a stone cold worry that she'd just made a grave mistake.
"You have nothing to fear," he assured her, sensing her emotions. "Not from me." He paused, staring up at her again, seeming to contemplate the immensity of it all. "A telepath," he nearly laughed. "As I live and breathe."
"I hate to keep remindin' you of this, buddy…" she smiled, trailing off.
"Hey, I'm breathing."
"Yeah, but you don't need to."
"Semantics," he grinned cheekily. "And you have feathers in your hair."
"And whose fault is that?" she asked playfully, trying to thread them out with her fingers. Before she could finish, he pushed her back down onto the pile of feathers and kissed her until dawn.
x
"What's good," Arlene was saying, "is that they ain't found a body in almost two weeks. Maybe that guy, whoever he is 'cause you damn well know it's a guy, ain't no female serial killers after all, anyway, maybe that guy got bored and moved on to another town. Someplace that's got better food, like New Orleans."
"And what is wrong with our food?" Sam asked, handing a platter of orders over to Arlene so she could take them to her tables. Each was some variation of fried, from burgers to chips to onion rings.
"Nothin', Sam," Arlene drawled, "Absolutely nothin'."
She threw a wink at Sookie as she passed, making her way over to the rowdy group of little leaguers with their dads in the far booths. Sookie grabbed a fry from the order up station and popped it in her mouth, tasting first salt followed quickly by grease. She smiled anyway, accepting the two pints of beer Sam was filling up for her.
"I think the food's great, Sam," she grinned, spinning on her heel. He followed her as she passed out the pints.
"You seem different," he said, subtly sniffing her hair, "and you smell different."
"Sam Merlotte, are you sniffin' me like a dog?" she asked. He shrugged sheepishly.
"I'm just sayin' you've got a different type of smell. New perfume or somethin'?"
"Unless you're countin' the smell of fried food and grease as perfume, Sam, no," she said, moving back behind the bar to clock out. Her shift was officially over and the sun would be setting in a few hours. She felt her anticipation growing with every passing moment. She'd wear her best white dress, maybe do her hair a bit. Plus, the evening was fixing to be beautifully tepid: not too hot, not too cold. And what Arlene was saying was right, the murders had completely left the news cycle. No new deaths in weeks. Sookie knew that Eric hadn't yet taken care of it-he would've told her, especially given how cautious he'd been lately about her safety-but perhaps the situation simply took care of itself. She liked that option better anyway.
At home, Sookie washed off the fried food and grease perfume, taking extra time with her appearance. Over the weeks, Eric had been feeding Sookie more and more of his blood, little by little. Each morning she awoke with a stronger tether to him. She felt it, a fishing line, secure and clean and hooked on both ends. Even while he slept she felt a thrum within her, a presence to remind her of him. He spent most nights at Sookie's if he wasn't obligated to stay at Fangtasia. Sometimes, Sookie would go to him, but Pam was starting to get sick of Eric neglecting his duties inside the club, too, so she backed off a bit. She hadn't seen him in a couple of nights because of his duties there and she was more than looking forward to their reunion.
In the kitchen, her gran was hard at work. Sookie walked around her, dipping a finger into the bowl of sweet, tangy apple pie filler, scooping some into her mouth.
"Sookie Stackhouse!" Gran scolded, slapping her hand with a wooden spoon. "You will wait until this pie is done before you eat. Absolutely no manners."
"Sorry, Gran," Sookie grinned, popping outside to catch the last of the sunset. It was a truly gorgeous one, all pinks and reds, yellows and oranges. The cicadas' chorus grew stronger as the sun dropped lower. Out at the end of the road, Jason worked on his truck, the new girl he was seeing lounging out the driver's side window as they flirted. Sookie took a seat on the porch swing, awaiting Eric's arrival. He likely wouldn't appear until after Gran and Jason went to bed; he wasn't ready for those conversations just yet, he'd confessed. She suggested he continue to work on his gratitude.
"Jason!" Sookie called, beckoning him over.
"How're ya doin', Sook?" he asked. "The long shifts at Merlotte's gettin' you down any?"
"Can't be worse than that road work you've been doin', Jay," she said, shoving his shoulder playfully as he sat beside her on the swing.
"Think I'm gonna be promoted soon," he grinned cheerily, clearly proud of himself. "Been puttin' in the hours."
"That's great, I'm proud of you," Sookie said genuinely, content to throw an arm around his shoulders. They sat for a few moments, Jason using the heels of his work boots to gently rock them back and forth. Jason's girlfriend said she needed to leave, her dad had put her on curfew because of the murders. Sookie meant to question Jason on what exactly his girlfriend's age was, but decided not to. She'd jump on him about it some other time. Not on a night as peaceful as this. As Sookie watched the last of the sun dip down below the horizon, she felt a stomach clenching sense that she'd done this before. Been here before. Lived this moment before.
"We should get you inside. Ain't safe out here in Bon Temps after the sun sets. Not after you saved that vamp," Jason said, standing and holding out his hand.
Sookie bristled, unwilling to take it.
"It has nothing to do with that vampire," she said crossly. "He's been helpin' more than you even know."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jason asked, growing loud in his anger. "Are you tellin' me we got a vamp hangin' around out here?"
Before Sookie could answer, a dark figure appeared seemingly out of nowhere, reaching behind Jason and pulling him into the shadows with surprising force. Jason, muscled and strong, fought back to no avail.
"You do, actually," the figure said in a soft Southern drawl, "just not the one Miss Stackhouse is referrin' to."
Sookie recognized that voice. It was Bill. Bill Compton. She thought he'd skipped down ages ago after the incident at Merlotte's. He was looking rather worse for wear, his suit ripped and torn at the edges, his skin covered in what looked to be a thin layer of dirt. He had dried blood on his face, his eyes hooded with shadow. She could hear Jason's panicked thoughts, fear speeding them up to a stream of consciousness.
I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die, please oh please, I don't wanna die
Bill's fangs edged closer and closer to Jason's neck. Soon it would be over.
"Bill?" Sookie gasped, trying to distract him, "What on Earth are you doin' here?"
"I never left, Sweetheart," he smiled without emotion.
"Have you been killin' all of these innocent people?" she asked desperately.
"No person is truly innocent," he said, not fully answering her question. "Not even you, darlin'."
She felt her hackles rise, adrenaline and anger pumping through her veins. It was potent. Eric would feel it.
"Have you?" she asked again as Bill gripped Jason tighter still.
"Yes ma'am," he said, "I am but a weary soldier, followin' the orders of my command."
"Please," Sookie stepped forward, causing Bill to lurch. "Let him go. Take me instead."
"Sookie, don't-" Jason protested. She cut him off with a pointed glare.
Bill inhaled, smelling the air, seeming to consider her proposition. He moved a bit closer with Jason in tow, examining the trade.
"No," Bill said, stopping himself. "No, those are not my orders. Say goodbye to your brother, please, Miss Stackhouse."
"Please, please don't kill him," she cried with real tears in her eyes now, dropping to her knees. "I'll do anythin'."
"That's what we were countin' on," Bill smiled, then sunk his teeth into Jason's neck. Gran came running out at Sookie's scream, Jason struggling in futility against the strength of the vampire. They watched helplessly as blood gushed from his neck, Jason's eyes drooping, rapidly losing consciousness, extremities twitching lifelessly.
"Please." Her voice now hollow, spoken to no one but herself.
She heard a sickening crunch and a clatter, Jason's body dropping to the ground. But it wasn't Jason's neck that had broken. It was Bill's. Eric lurched with Bill off of the porch, the movements of their fight a blur to Sookie's eyes. Suddenly, they froze, Eric holding Bill against a tree, his other hand poised to strike with a wooden stake, fangs out.
"No silver this time?" Eric growled. "An oversight."
Bill didn't answer. Instead, he looked skyward.
"Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name-"
Eric plunged the stake into his chest. Bill dissolved instantly, a pile of blood and guts.
"There will be no prayers for the damned," he spat, looking down, his shoes covered in Bill. "And now I need new shoes."
x
so i did say 3 chapters total before, but now it's 4. not sure what happened between 2014 and 2020, but apparently i forgot how to edit myself down. i also started drinking coffee. i'm sure there's no relation ;)